


Crossroads

by timeheist



Series: The Redjay [6]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: Years later, Captain Jack Harkness would listen to Professor River Song complain about meeting people in the wrong order and remember the time that it had nearly cost him the beginning of one of his strongest relationships.Or: The Redjay meets Captain Jack Harkness, and an ex-Time Agent meets Rodageitmososa again.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For John Hurt. Without you, Roda would never have evolved.

**CARDIFF, 2006**

Captain Jack Harkness looked down at the Redjay with a knowing smirk on his face. She looked up at him from her perch at the back of the cell, clearly woozy, in ill-fitting clothes and more than a little worse for wear. Not that he could blame her; Jack had just fished her out of the River Taff, after all. But he couldn't help but smile. Here she was, the thief that had eluded him for centuries, fished out of a river and sitting in a Torchwood cell. His Torchwood cell. It might have taken her a while but she'd finally fulfilled the promise she'd made him long ago. Had it been as long for her as it had for him? You could never tell, where Time Lords were concerned. But he could tell from the look on her face as she scowled at him that this Redjay had never met him before.

The next few months would be a challenge, then. He was a different man now, one who couldn't let the Redjay slip through his fingers for a second time. After all this time... he had to make friends with her.

She was a small woman, with olive skin and startlingly angry mismatched eyes; the right blue, and the left green, each seeming to defy the other. Her nose was small, with a ski-jump at the end, and her dark brown hair hair just passed her ears with a fringe that looked almost to have been hacked out of her eyes by a particularly careless hairdresser. It curled slightly, still damp from her fall in the river, though they'd had an artefact in the vaults that had mostly dried her clothes while she was out cold. There was a bruise underneath one eye, already healing to a plum-like shade of purple, and the faintest line of freckles that almost bled into her dark skin. In contrast her features were feminine, soft but worn. Her body was young – she could have been in her mid twenties – but looking at her now Jack was struck by just how old she seemed to be.

“Where the Skaro am I?”

He stepped out of the shadows, playing the same old confidence game that he always did. Jack tipped his head to one side and folded his arms over his blue shirt. That was his role. This was a game. Just this once, he knew how everything was supposed to go. There was a certain sort of thrill to that; having the upper hand over a Lord of Time. He was going to savour this for as long as he could.

“This is Torchwood, Roda.” He winked and locked eyes with the Time Lord across the room, his grin only widening. “And this time, I've caught you.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I did not look for her, because I was afraid of dispelling the mystery we attach to people whom we know only casually.”  
>  **― Colette, The Pure and the Impure**

 

"So who is she, then – another old flame?”

Jack glanced up from his desk as Ianto stepped into his office. He stretched his neck and back, and accepted the outstretched mug of coffee with a trademark smile. It didn't take him long to clear a space in the sparse and useless paperwork that he'd managed to collect on Time Lords – after the destruction of Canary Wharf what Torchwood 'officially' knew about Time Lords mostly came from him, anyway - and he took a deep gulp of his coffee before putting it down. He sighed at Ianto, who only raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Not every good-looking alien we meet used to know me.” Ianto's eyebrow moved somehow higher and Jack laughed, putting the poor man out of his misery. “But this time, you'd be right.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Wouldn't call her an old flame, though.”

“Sounds... complicated.”

Jack laughed. “You have no idea.”

Ianto, old, dependable Ianto, knew an attempt to change the subject when he heard it. Jack nodded at the empty chair in front of his desk, inviting Ianto to take it as he picked up his coffee once again. He studied Ianto over the rim, and launched into his story.

“She's a Time Lord.”

“Like the Doctor?”

Jack's jaw tensed. He and Ianto had very different opinions of the Doctor, he was sure. The Battle of Canary Wharf wasn't one that painted the Doctor in the best light for its few survivors, but then they hadn't known the man before. And then there was Rose... his heart still ached.

“Same species. They're an ancient race of beings from a long-gone planet. They perfected time travel, took out any species that might have beaten them to it and until recently, treated the universe as their playground. They were all wiped out... technically speaking.”

Now, there was a thought he hadn't considered before. If this Redjay knew him in the future, did that mean that the Doctor wasn't alone? He stored that piece of information away for later.

“So she's a hostile?” Jack sighed, but didn't answer. Ianto nodded knowingly. After all these years, Jack supposed he could read the silence between the lines about as well as anybody could. “Ah. Then that's why she's in a cell.”

“The last time we met,” Jack nodded, half to himself, “she stole... my partner's," (safe wording), "lipstick," Ianto raised a confused eyebrow, "and left me handcuffed to a rental car.” He paused. Not in the fun way.”

“So she's that kind of flame.”

Jack laughed, rolling onto the balls of his feet so that he could lean over the table and kiss Ianto on the forehead. He was cute when he was jealous. “Not even close. I was arresting her,” Ianto opened his mouth, “no, really. She's a criminal. Temporal thief, con-artist-”

“Takes one to know one, apparently.”

Jack snorted. “You name a white collar crime, she's wanted for it somewhere. John, my partner," he looked at Ianto out of the corner of his eyes, gauging his reaction, “and I were supposed to bring her in years ago but she got away. Twice.”

“Is she dangerous?”

“Oh yes,” Jack couldn't help but grin, ignoring Ianto's frown of irritation. “Good coffee, by the way.”

Ianto pursed his lips. “You're changing the subject.”

“She told me,” Jack finished – more than used to frustrating people with the half of a story that he couldn't finish telling - “that she knew me in the future. And that we were friends.”

“And you believed her?”

“I don't know,” admitted Jack, finishing his coffee in one gulp.

He reached for a remote control by his lamp, thumbing a button in the centre. The monitor across the room flicked between the unassuming Torchwood logo and grainy non-images before settling on the live footage of the Redjay pacing her cell, clearly looking for something. The cameras she must know are there? A weak spot in the security? He'd have to go check on her sooner or later, but for now, he had some research to do. Ianto was right; he might 'know' her, but there was no telling what sort of threat she would be to his team. After all, she'd taken out more than two trained Time Agents, back in the day. His gut told him he could trust her, but he had to be sure.

He couldn't afford to lose anyone else to his carelessness.

“But that's what I plan to find out...”


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Interrogation is by far the most effective method of speedily banishing inappropriate thoughts from the mind.”  
>  **― Olli Jalonen**

 

“Where am I?”

She wasted no time, Jack noted, and it would have been funnier if he wasn't trying to be serious. No matter the mystery, no matter their history, Jack had to treat the Redjay like any other potentially malicious alien species come through the rift. And the more he thought about it, the more he had to admit that the fact she had come through the rift was stranger and stranger. Coming to refuel at it, like the Doctor did, that he could understand, but she had just appeared in the sky, and – he could only assume – crash-landed. Had she aimed for Cardiff, or had it been a mistake? And if it wasn't, and she hadn't planned to refuel, was she here as the Redjay?

“You're on Earth.” Jack crossed his arms and eyed the security pad to the side of her cell, careful not to let her follow his gaze. “Twenty first century.”

“That doesn't make sense.” The Redjay half-pouted, pausing in her pacing to stand in front of Jack, mirroring his body movements. “I wasn't anywhere near Sol-3, or the 21st century. Why did you bring me here?”

“I didn't bring you anywhere. You flew yourself.” Jack shrugged. “I mean, I'm not sure I'd give you points for your landing. Do you always head for water?” He winked. “Or did you just enjoy that night on the ferry so much that you seek out bodies of water in search of handsome-”

“Why,” the Time Lady closed the gap between them so fast that if there hadn't been reinforced glass between them, they would have been touching. Jack swallowed unconsciously, “did you bring me here?” She was... different to the Redjay he had met before. It took him a few minutes to realise it was the way she held herself. Mirroring his own movements, her back straight, less fluid than he remembered. She held herself like a soldier, not like a confident thief, or the flirt she'd been last they met. Now that he looked at her clothes more closely, he could see worn leather armour and something that didn't look too unlike a sort of kevlar built into her trademark red. “And where's my TARDIS...” Her eyes drifted over his coat, “...Captain?”

“We impounded it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You won't be able to get into her.”

“I wasn't going to-”

“And if you do anything to me,” she continued, ignoring his protests, her head held high, “the Time Agency will never get into my TARDIS.”

“Sweetcheeks,” Jack grinned, trying to place where they were in each other's timelines, “those days are long past.” This was clearly after the time they'd first met, in the Boeshane Peninsula – it was difficult to be certain, since those memories were lost to him, but he knew she'd regenerated since – but how long after? Was she older or younger than the Doctor? Did she remember him at all, or had her last meeting with him been less consequential than his? She'd mentioned the Time Agency of course, but that could have just been an educated guess. The answer changed a lot, but how to ask?

“The CIA will take it. They – they need every TARDIS they can get during a War. She's combat-ready. Old...” Jack felt as though she was talking to herself, now, almost as though in the absence of further threats to be made, she'd forgotten he was here. His comment had clearly been missed; the seasoned soldier was replaced by a rookie. “She won't like having another pilot, but maybe Wic-” Horror flashed across her face. She met Jack's eyes once again. “I need to get back. Maybe if I'm quick enough she'll – she'll-”

The Redjay froze. For a second, Jack thought that she had stopped breathing, or had done something. He unfolded his arms, reaching for his earpiece, ready to call in help. Gwen was upstairs, watching the security feed while they spoke, ready to jump in if he needed her. She would recognize the signs if he went on guard. Privately, he hoped that he wouldn't have to involve anyone else until he knew what was going on. Anaesthetic, though. He could knock her out – or try to - and try and find out what all this talk about a War was. He realised, with a spark of surprise, that he wanted this meeting to go well. He didn't want to have to treat her like rift debris. There was so much more going on here than he understood... but it had to work out, right? She'd seemed to imply, in her future and his past, that things worked out.

Damn it, he needed a drink. And perhaps River Song, to untangle this knot of timelines for him. Time Lords... Honestly, the two that he'd met so far, the Redjay and the Doctor, were quite enough to last him a lifetime thank you very much.

“Redjay.” Jack spoke calmly but firmly, putting on his best Captain's voice. “Roda.” Her real name got her attention, breaking the Redjay out of her reverie. She even raised a wary eyebrow, but she didn't look pleased by any stretch. “I'm not a Time Agent anymore, and you're not under arrest. Well,” he chuckled briefly, “not really. My name is Captain Jack Harkness.” He raised his hands, showing her that he was unarmed, and maintained his calm tone of voice. “This is Cardiff, the year is 2006, and you're in a Torchwood cell underneath the bay because you came through a rift in time and space and crash-landed in the river. I'm sorry, but we have to hold you in this cell until we determine whether or not you're a threat to the human race.”

“But – the War...” The Redjay frowned, her facade of control fading. “The Commander. The Daleks...”

“Did you say Daleks?” Jack's head snapped up, identical horror on his face. “Here?”

He ran his eyes over her once again, studying her for something to make sense of that statement. He felt suddenly tense, and somewhat ill. What did she mean, Daleks? Is that who she was at war with? Wait... his brow furrowed. Something nagged at the back of his mind, a thought that – now it was there – he was amazed that he hadn't had sooner. Of course – the Last Great Time War. He'd almost brought it up himself half an hour ago, talking to Ianto about the Time Lords. Little details of the Redjay's appearance began to make sense. Her disorientation, her clothing; particularly the familiar scorch marks in the uniform that clearly didn't fit her. (Had her regeneration been recent?) The air of a soldier that she had about her. The age in her eyes. The way she held herself, like a cat unwilling to show that it was in pain.

Jack bit down his own trauma, and forced himself to be reasonable. There was no reason that the Daleks might have followed her here. If they had, he would have known about them by now. She must have been fresh from a fight, or have been fleeing one. Or perhaps the rift had just appeared in her part of space at precisely the worst time. She'd mentioned a Commander; this 'Wick' person? He could feel his heart racing, and took a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a moment before making a decision.

“Gwen.”

The earpiece crackled for a bit – how the signal could be so bad when they were both inside the same 'building' Jack would never know. Typical bluetooth – and then the policewoman replied, her voice sharp and her worry obvious. “What is it Jack? Do you need back-up?”

“Get Tosh to scan the rift.” Jack kept eye contact with the Redjay while he spoke, pursing his lips in thought. “We're looking for anything else that came through at the same time as our current guest, or increased activity.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Probably not,” replied Jack, as the Redjay tilted her head to one side, “but I need to be sure.”

“What about the alien?”

“She's secured.” The Redjay snorted, and Jack couldn't help but smile feebly. He understood that sort of 'sarcasm'. “Let me know what you find out.”

He cut the signal and waited for a long time, as the two of them surveyed each other in silence. The Redjay's brow was knit in thought, her expression showing very little of what was no doubt going through her mind. In the end, Jack finally sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I'll be back later,” Jack told the Redjay, turning to leave. “We'll talk then. Maybe I'll even answer some of those questions.” He paused again, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, and the feeling in his gut that all of this was somehow... unnecessary. “You're safe here,” he promised, as though as an afterthought. “There's a perception filter on the Hub. Nothing can get in.”

“Or out?”

“Or out,” he agreed, glad that his turned back hid his expression from the Time Lord.

He climbed the stairs before she could speak again and made for his office, ignoring both Gwen and Owen as they tried to ask him how the interrogation had went. The door shut behind him and he sank into his chair with a groan, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and closing his eyes. Daleks. She had to bring up Daleks. He needed a moment. Better still, he needed that drink. Memories fought for prominence in his mind - the Redjay, on that night on the boat; her promise that they would meet again; the flash of light and the searing pain as he died. He didn't know what to think anymore, or what to expect.

Tosh's scans wouldn't take long. Whatever he did next, he had to know for sure there were no Daleks first, and that the Redjay hadn't endangered them all. But wouldn't she have warned him, if she did? Or had he been taken in by the kind of scam that he should have seen coming all along? He cracked his knuckles and leaned forward, opening the laptop on his desk and logging into the network. A couple of minutes of encryption later and he opened up the highest security fail-safe that Torchwood had. Tosh had constructed it with a little help from himself, and some wreckage from the rift. It was drastic, potentially irreversible, it had never been tested but where Daleks were concerned... no.

He had to do it.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There's coffee for those who want it,' the Duke said.”  
>  **– Frank Herbert, Dune**

 

“So... who were they?”

Later on, when Jack asked him what was going through his head when he went to talk to the prisoner, he would have been hard-pressed to say. Ianto Jones had three jobs at Torchwood; make coffee, archive alien artefacts and encounters and – as Jack increasingly said – look pretty. He certainly didn't do interrogations, and outside of the odd weevil hunt, he barely dealt with aliens at all. Strictly rubber gloves and alien tech for him. And yet here he was, standing in front of their latest visitor's cell with one hand in the gun stowed in his pocket and his other clasping the handle of a striped mug of steaming coffee.

This was mad. If Jack knew what he was planning to do he would have been fired by now. He was still on shaky ground after the fallout from Canary Wharf, after all. But Jack was busy at the moment doing goodness only knew what in his office. Tosh was busy checking up on the rift, Owen was doing something with a cadaver and Gwen was waiting to see what happened next. No one was paying attention to the tea boy and so until Jack glanced up at the CCTV, or someone noticed that their coffee had gone cold, Ianto was left to his own devices. He would cross that bridge when he came to it and until then, he had to trust that this wasn't the worst decision he had made since -

since Lisa.

Ianto had watched the interrogation – or at leas, the beginning of one – with Gwen from the relative safety of upstairs. Jack, as usual when affairs had something to do with his past, had insisted on doing it alone and so the curious had been left watching a soundless video feed. Even without the conversation for context, however, it had been obvious to Ianto that something was wrong, but not for them. It was the look in her eyes, one that he knew all too well himself. Recent loss, warring with denial. She looked... lonely. No aliens that had come through the rift had looked like that before. And then there'd been what Ianto had seen and Jack hadn't, when he'd turned his back to climb the stairs. An outstretched hand, reaching for something familiar before being snatched back as though as an afterthought. The way that her shoulders slumped, and her eyes tore away from his retreating back with a flash of pain, and... definitely anger. What was she angry at?

Ianto watched her in silence as she composed herself, pinching the bridge of her nose and lying down on the cot with her back towards the wall, and he'd known that he wanted to – needed to – speak to her himself. He'd tried to catch Jack on his way past but the man had just marched to his office and slammed the door. And besides, what would he say, anyway? He was sure that Jack understood losing someone... but Lisa was off-limits.

The Time Lord clearly hadn't heard him approach. She jumped when he spoke to her, eyes snapping open and her hand reaching for where her gun used to be. Naturally, they'd disarmed her before bringing her in. Tosh was still trying to puzzle out the equipment that she'd had on her, but half of it had no obvious use (although Jack had laughed about a 'sonic' something-or-other) and the rest didn't seem to work for them. Most of it was like nothing that they'd ever seen before. When the Time Lord remembered where she was and what was missing she stood cautiously up, but when she rested her eyes on him she seemed more confused than alarmed. The woman tilted her head to one side, and Ianto immediately regretting not asking if Time Lords were telepathic when she seemed to look right through him.

“Who are you?”

“I'm...” Ianto hesitated, “I work for Torchwood.” He held up the mug of hot coffee with a pleasant enough smile, putting on his very best Tourist Information voice. “I make the coffee.”

“Then, ah,” she was clearly on guard, though Ianto couldn't say he blamed her. This was probably as uncomfortable for her as it was difficult for them. “What are you doing here?” She moved automatically to push her hair out of her eyes, and seemed surprised to find no fringe there. Shaking her head once, she continued talking. “Was your Captain so busy he sent the coffee boy to dissect me?”

“I – what?” Ianto's eyes widened in mixed shock and horror. “I'm not-”

“That's what this place is for, isn't it?” The woman narrowed her eyes. “Like your Area 51. A place where you humans study aliens. Cut them up, steal their tech. I told your boss with the Agency,” Ianto raised an eyebrow. What Agency? Had she mistaken them for someone else? Jack had said they had a past, perhaps this wasn't the first time she'd been captured and, well, interrogated. “You'll get nothing from me.”

“We don't cut people up.” Ianto swallowed, hoping that the guilt didn't show on his face. Well. They didn't cut up live aliens, but it wouldn't be the first time that Owen had taken a knife to one on an autopsy table. She certainly wasn't the first alien to assume that dissection was what would happen to them... perhaps that was something they ought to think about more often. What aliens thought of them. He wondered if Jack knew. “We're not monsters.”

“And I am?” The woman snapped, one hand clenching into a less than well-hidden fist.

“That's not what I meant...” Ianto took a deep breath and not for the first time, he wondered if this was going to get him killed. He tightened his hand around the grip of his pistol for just a second before slipping his hand from his pocket and held it up in front of him. “I just came here to talk.”

“With a gun in your pocket?” Ianto tensed up in turn, opening his mouth to argue, but she interrupted him. “Your Captain talked with his gun last time we met, too.”

He made up his mind while trying not to think too hard about that piece of information. He emptied the clip from his gun like Jack had taught him to, slipping it into his pocket and carefully and obviously placing the gun down on the floor on the opposite side of the corridor. He turned to face her with one eyebrow raised and a smirk that he hoped was as charismatic as one of Jack's. It seemed to surprise her. He hoisted the coffee once again, the corners of his mouth twisting into what was almost a proper smile.

“I mean it.” He stepped over to the panel beside the door to her cell, being careful to shield the keypad with his body so that she couldn't see the combination as he typed it in. “You look like you need it.”

“What I need,” she growled through clenched teeth, “is to get out of this prison and get back to my squadron.”

“That can be arranged,” reassured Ianto, taking a deep breath as the door slid open. He watched the alien intently, well aware that for all he knew, she was about to charge him, maybe even kill him, and escape into the Hub. But she simply watched him right back, her weight on her back leg, poised and ready but still. “Once we determine you're not a threat.”

“You have no idea,” she grinned, though it seemed like postulation, more than a threat.

The cell door slid closed behind them, Ianto trusting in the point where somebody would be down to drag him out whether he wanted it or not. He held out the mug of coffee with as steady an arm as he could manage, and after what seemed like hours of silence she reached out carefully and clasped it to her chest in both hands. Ianto smiled, and sighed with relief.

“Does that mean you'll talk?” She opened her mouth again, but this time he interrupted her. “Just talk. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.” He paused. “But... I know that look in your eye.”

She sipped the coffee slowly, appraising him over the rim of the mug in a gesture that looked so much like Jack that it almost made Ianto laugh. Her head tilted to one side and she gave an appreciative hum, before turning her full attention to the drink. It was almost as though she had judged him, decided that he was no threat; for his words, or because she could kill him in an instant? He didn't know. But it was a start. The sipping turned into a long gulp of coffee, and once her mug was drained she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and granted him an almost apologetic smile.

“Good coffee.”

“I did say I was the coffee boy.”

She snorted, “I guess I like coffee in this body.”

“In this...” he shook his head, “actually, I don't want to know.”

She laughed, a genuine sound at last. “I thought you wanted me to talk to you.”

“I meant more about...” he gestured absently with one hand, taking a seat at one end of the cot she had been sleeping on. After a moment's hesitation she followed him, sitting cross-legged at the other end. “Well, you know.”

“I know...”

The laughter that had broken through a moment ago seemed to slip away from her like rain on glass. She rested her now-empty hands in her lap, fingers curling in and out of her palm as she seemed to fish for the words to say, or the decision whether or not to trust him. When she finally spoke, her eyes didn't drift away from her lap, but one hand curled tenderly against the middle of her chest.

“Her name is – was Wincinrondrometa.”

“And here I thought Splot was hard to pronounce.”

“It's... very traditional.” The woman frowned to herself, her lips briefly pursing. “Everything about Wick was traditional. Traditional family, traditional House, traditional soldier...”

“You served with her?” Ianto guided the questions gently, not wanting to push her. He could recognize the circular answer for what it was; evasion. The woman's voice was the quietest it had been since his arrival.

“Served under her.” She chuckled, “in more ways than one.”

“You were lovers.”

“Not at first.” The alien looked at him, a curious expression on her face. She seemed to be looking into him, trying to read something there, some ulterior motive, perhaps. He smiled invitingly, and when she was ready, she continued. “She hated me. Hated everything that I was. Skaro,” Ianto raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar word, “she practically begged Rassilon to assign me to a different Commander. And didn't I know it, when I first arrived at the barracks. I knew damn well I was being punished and I hated her for it. Hated that she hated me just because...” her hand ran over her right forearm, index finger tracing invisible circles. “It doesn't matter.”

Ianto reached out, placing one hand gingerly on top of hers. She barely flinched but he noticed the movement, all the same, and slowly withdrew his arm. Testing the waters he touched the side of her shoulder and when she didn't move away he rested his hand there reassuringly. “But you didn't hate her.”

“Oh, I didn't hate her. Resented her, maybe... but like I said, she was traditional. Younger than me, but she'd heard all about me. A cautionary tale. Don't fly too close to the suns, or your TARDIS will burn.” Ianto nodded, pretending that her words made sense, and it seemed to spur her on. “No, I didn't hate her. And over the years, we learned to live with each other. War,” she hesitated, hand moving from her arm, “has a way of putting things into perspective.”

“Jack's mentioned it.”

“I never rose up the ranks. They didn't trust me. Once an outlaw, always an outlaw, and all that... but Wick didn't treat me like a ticking time bomb. She expected me to act just like any other soldier under her command, and we were in an elite squadron, so Rassilon help us if any one of us made a mistake. That was more important to her.” The woman sighed, and a fond smile spread across her face. “She was following orders, having me on her team. She expected me to follow mine. There were Daleks to kill, no time to have it out and no sense in blowing my chance to fight in the War. If I put one foot out of line...” She shook her head, smile fading. “Wick would have dealt with it. Until Polymos was destroyed.”

Ianto winced appropriately. “Your home planet?”

Her laugh was so loud and so sudden that it caught Ianto off guard. He tensed, ready to jump to his feet, but she simply wiped her eyes and shook her hand. No, then. Letting out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding in Ianto relaxed his shoulders. She didn't seem dangerous so far. Famous last words, perhaps, but maybe she wasn't the woman that Jack thought she was.

“Rassilon's balls, no! But we were on the tail of a Time Destructor. We stole the taranium core centuries ago,” she paused, biting her bottom lip, “might have been the Doctor himself, actually, but the point was, the Time Lords had a functional replica. But Rassilon wanted the real thing, and we sure as Skaro didn't want the Daleks having it anymore. With Davros dead,” Ianto nodded along, trying to make a mental note of what she was telling him, but half of the words didn't make any sense, “we thought that they wouldn't be able to make another. We could...” she went pale, “we could use it against them. But the operation went wrong.”

“Is that how...?” Ianto squeezed the Time Lord's shoulder.

“No, this was...” she rolled her eyes in thought, fingers curling into her palm as she counted, “more than two hundred years ago, anyway.” He blinked, studying her up and down. She looked to be in her late twenties, or early thirties. Could she really be more than two hundred years old? “Anyway, like I said it went wrong. Very wrong. Half of our squadron were caught in the temporal wave...” The woman went very pale, and very quiet. Her hands went limp in her lap, and for a moment, Ianto regretted prying. They sat together in a companionable silence for the longest time. “Anyway,” she cleared her throat, but didn't seem to want to go into details, “Wick lost her TARDIS. She needed someone, and no one else knew what to say to our Commander but I never really gave a damn about rank.”

Ianto chuckled knowingly. “Well, that at least I understand.”

The Time Lady raised an eyebrow. “You and the Captain...?”

“It's...”

“Complicated.” She finished his sentence for him, and Ianto nodded his confirmation. “I know what you mean.”


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable. Be honest and frank anyway.”  
>  **― Kent M. Keith**

 

It felt to Rodageitmososa as though she and the human spoke for hours. It probably hadn't even been one. Her sense of Time was off.

She couldn't wrap her head around him. What was his angle? What was this... Torchwood place's angle? Were they an earthbound branch of the Time Agency, or something else entirely? And how had she wound up here in their custody when less than a day ago she'd been surrounded by an entire fleet of Daleks ready to exterminate them all a Moment's notice, in a damaged TARDIS and not a hope in Skaro of getting out alive...

And yet here she was, talking to a stranger about the Commander. Trying desperately to give him what he wanted, and failing miserably to pretend that this wasn't what she needed. The guilt was eating away inside her; not just that she was here and Wick was... Wick was not, but that she hadn't knocked him out the moment he'd opened the door to her cell and run. That she had humoured him, trusted him even, instead of getting back to the War without a moment's hesitation. But it was hard to admit that what he offered wasn't tempting. A listening ear. A warm drink. Somewhere that she could sleep for the first time in what felt like months without the sounds of battle waging on around her.

How could she want that, when she couldn't share it with Wick?

Roda found herself telling Ianto everything. How they had lost half their squadron on Polymos – she spared him the gruesome details – and the toll it had taken on Wick's pride, and on her hearts. How Roda had stayed with her that night as she wrote her report, and how she'd held her hand when she was ordered to the Nursery to replace a TARDIS that had been a part of her body since the day that she'd graduated from the Academy. How there had been nothing that Roda could have done or said that would have been enough to fix the pain but how it had patched things over... and not just the damage of that awful day.

She couldn't bring herself to tell him about the freckles on Wicks face, or the beautiful colour of her dark skin and the way that no matter what she did to her hair, it always escaped out the sides of her regulation-issue helmet. Closing her eyes as she spoke she could remember the way that Wick's hands felt on her body, both staunching bleeding and coaxing soft, low moans out of her, sometimes on the same day. She could hear Wick's voice in her ear and when he touched her arm, it was Wick's hands in his place, stupid, selfless Wick, telling her it was okay. Reassuring her right up to the moment...

“Step away from him and put your hands on your head – now!”

The brief companionship, the raft in the middle of her sea of stress, came crashing down as quickly as it had settled in. She hadn't even noticed the door sliding open behind them. Roda froze, making eye contact with the human on the bench in front of her as his eyes widened in something that was not quite horror, but instead guilt and embarrassment. He scrambled to his feet, almost like a child caught reading something dirty, and shot her an apologetic look before being yanked half off his feet and out of the way by the Time Agent masquerading as a human as he stormed back into the room with his pistol balanced on the edge of his hand. Ianto opened his mouth to say something, and either thought better of it or was beaten to the punch by his superior.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“She needed – I mean, she looked-”

“She's a dangerous criminal, Ianto!” The man's voice was strained, as though he was forcing himself to say words that needed to be said, but even through her anger Roda could see the care he had for the man he now stood in front of. She averted her gaze despite herself, noticing with feigned interest how the coffee mug had been kicked over in the fuss, and almost as an afterthought put her hands up in the air. Compared to the Time War, it was hard to imagine that she had anything to fear, and if Wick was really dead then it was hard to believe that she had anything left to lose. “You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn't.”

Roda spoke at the same time, looking back up. “Am I not allowed to talk?”

“Upstairs,” the Time Agent half snarled, “now.” When his companion didn't move, he added: “that's an order.” He paused again, “we'll discuss this later.”

There was a pregnant pause and Ianto sighed, shooting Roda one last sorry look before quietly responding. “Yes, Sir.”

The tension in the air could have been cut with a knife. Roda watched Ianto leave, her mind reeling. She watched Ianto disappear up the stairs and then returned her attention to the gun pointed, rather obviously, not at her head but at her chest. Where her hearts were. So the Time Agent remembered she was a Time Lord, then. She snorted. Hundreds of years since their last meeting and it had come back to this; a Time Agent pointing a gun at a Time Lady. At least this time she knew what she was being accused of. Her cheerful demeanour slipped away in an instant as the two were left alone once again, and her eyes narrowed. She ventured the idea of lowering her arms, but thought better of it as the agent closed the distance between them and jerked his gun in her direction.

After all, he'd killed her before.

“If I was going to hurt him,” she growled, eyes flashing with anger, “don't you think I would have done it already?”

“That's not the point,” the man in front of her snapped, not lowering his weapon for an instant. They were so close now that Roda could almost have reached out and grabbed his gun, if she wasn't certain that he'd be able to fire before she could. But the thought crossed her mind. He had shot her once; what was there to stop him doing it again? The memory of that death was imprinted on her mind as clearly as though it had happened yesterday. There was something she remembered her professors telling her back in the Time Academy – you always remember your first regeneration. Looking at the man now, the distance in his eyes, it hurt all over again to imagine that there was even the slightest chance that her death was little more than just a cross on the calendar of his life. “It was reckless.”

She'd been young. Far too young. She'd only stopped in at the Boenine Peninsula to refuel her TARDIS. There was a handy little rift in vortex – not as big as the one on Sol-3 of course, but considerably less conspicuous for it as well. And besides, she'd heard plenty of stories about fifty first century near-humans and so fresh from the Academy, she'd wanted to know how many of them were true and which were pure fantasy. She'd never thought that there was any reason for the Time Agency to be keeping an eye on her, let alone that she'd barely step foot out of her TARDIS before being assaulted by a pair of Time Agents and a pair of handcuffs. With a gun to the side of her head, she'd panicked, lashing out – they'd shouted words at her that, at the time, had made no sense to the young Gallifreyan – and the next thing she'd remembered she was cuffed to a metal table sitting across from the man standing in front of her now.

He was younger then, too, but not much so. At least, not in his appearance. But his eyes seemed to have aged him almost as much as hers. He'd thrown questions at her like a master pitcher, disorientating her and accusing her until she barely remembered her own name. What is your real name? Why did you target the Bank of the Colonies? Where did you hide the money? What did you plan to do with it? Where is my partner? It had meant nothing to him that she'd practically begged that he had the wrong person, and had no answers for his hundreds of questions. He kept calling her 'Redjay'; the irony was not lost on her now but the fact remained that the interrogation still made no sense. She'd never robbed the Bank of the Colonies simply because she wasn't that stupid. Why target a major temporal bank based in the same city as the Time Agency when there were a million safer places to steal from? Why risk her life like that?

The interrogation had taken days. No one had ever warned her about the Time Agency. Their methods made the Celestial Intervention Agency look like flubbles. She hadn't spoken, hadn't given them anything. At the time she'd felt proud but there had been nothing to say. The Redjay was nothing to her. A faceless vigilante that she'd never heard before who had, so it had seemed, framed her for a crime that she hadn't committed. For the first time since graduation she'd wanted nothing more than to go home to Gallifrey and curl up in her father's library until her bones stopped aching but she'd been given no such reprieve. When she finally managed to escape their custody it had been little more than a fluke, an opportunity taken while being transferred from one room to another. The bullets in her back had been the biggest surprise. Rassilon only knew what a bleeding woman stumbling through the streets in search of a TARDIS had looked like to passers-by.

The next time she'd woken up after that, it had been to her second face.

“Reckless?!” She could have laughed and she was well aware that she was shouting. Her hands dropped and she gestured wildly at him with upturned palms before running her hands through her too-short hair. This regeneration was weird. Her hair was too long, she was too short, and her voice was too... feminine. It was awful. She resented having to stand on her toes to look the Time Agent in the eye and she knew that the angrier she got, the more tired she would become. The regeneration was still in process; she felt like she could sleep for a century and was just barely aware of wisps of gold escaping as she spoke. Everything was just exhausting. The Time Agent said she'd flown herself here, but she couldn't remember. She remembered Daleks. Teleporting to her TARDIS, and then... Torchwood. It would come back to her soon. “What could I possibly do!?”

“I can't take any chances with my men.”

“Oh, he's your man, is he?” Roda snorted. “And the good little soldiers aren't allowed to play when the Captain's,” she spat, “away”.

He almost smirked. “I don't like people playing with my stuff.”

Was he enjoying this? Deep down, Roda admitted that she probably was, too. What was wrong with them both? The gun stayed up and she snarled exasperatedly.

“I'm not your stuff.”

“Well,” it was somewhat strained but she could have sworn he winked, “that could change.”

And yet, he didn't lower his gun at all. Of course not. “If you're going to shoot me again just get it fucking over with.” Her face split into a Cheshire grin as she stepped forward, almost nose to nose with him. She lowered her voice to something that was almost a whisper, ignoring the barrel of the gun pressed against her hearts. “Quit flirting and pull the trigger.”

They stayed like that for the longest time. Roda could hear his heart beating in time with both of hers, and all three were racing like greyhounds. They were oddly alike, she realised, in a way that they hadn't been before. Both of them were soldiers now; she could recognize that in him as much as she was sure he could recognize it in her. They had both seen death, that too was obvious. And she had to admit that he was more attractive than she had remembered him. A strong jaw, strong hands, strong eyes. Nothing like Wick of course, but then there never would be anybody else like her. She felt as though he was studying her too and held his eyes and her breath. If this was the end, then she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cowed. But as the moment slipped away his brow began to furrow, and his pistol went stiff at his side.

“The last,” he stressed, “and only time we've met,” he said slowly, testing the water between them, “you nearly killed me.”

He hesitated, and then reached for her hand suddenly, with authority. Willing herself not to flinch she let the man rest her fingertips against his temples. She could feel his nerves even without a telepathic link. From the way that he had reached out for her it was at least clear that she can't have been the only Time Lord he'd met before, but it struck her immediately that he'd known one so intimately that he'd known the moves to make her believe what he said. Time Agents had basic telepathy, that much she knew, but it was practical at best. What he was offering was intimate, and almost made her want to turn and run away.

“Before that I have no idea how you escaped.” He closed his eyes, inviting her to listen to the truths. Before she could talk herself out of it Roda rested her forehead against his and dove into his offered thoughts. “I don't remember anything.”


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.”  
>  **― G.K. Chesterton**

 

Jack sank into a chair at the table in the briefing room in the Hub ten minutes later without shedding light on anything that had happened in the cell below them. He was vaguely aware of Gwen and Ianto sharing concerned looks above him, neither of them quite willing to make his eyes. More than anything he could feel the frustration radiating from Gwen that he was keeping secrets and he knew fine that the way he had burst into the cells and given Ianto orders had hurt the man that was sometimes his lover but his thoughts were reeling. When he'd found the Redjay in the Taff he'd been certain that he held all the cards. He knew who she was, he was reasonably certain that they would be friends, and he'd expected to have everything sorted out and possibly a tumble in the sheets by lunch time. But nothing had gone as planned.

He rubbed his temples absent-mindedly with one hand and wondered just what the hell had made him do that. Offer his memories up to her for the taking. She was a Time Lord. What he called telepathy was almost certainly the sort of thing that she had learned in preschool (if Time Lords had something like that, of course) and yet he'd lowered his defences like an idiot. The problem was that he wanted to trust her. There was something about her. He couldn't put a finger on it. He desperately wanted his gut feeling about her to be right. He desperately wanted an immortal that might understand him. Ianto, Gwen, Tosh and Owen, they were all great people, and he trusted them with his life (figuratively speaking) on a daily basis but there was something other about him that they would never be able to wrap his head around. For reasons that he couldn't understand, it felt like the Redjay might be different.

“Jack!”

Gwen's voice eventually snapped him to attention and he glanced up at her, taking pains to paint a reassuring and relaxed smirk onto his face as he did so. He had to be the Captain.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“What the fuck happened down there, Jack?” Gwen half-pouted as she glared down at him, one eyebrow quirked. “One minute you were in your office and the next Ianto's charging up here like the devil's on his back!”

Jack glanced at Ianto out of the corner of his eye, smiling despite himself. Decorum. Calm. Take a step away from the Redjay and figure things out when everybody had calmed down. “There's plenty of things I could do with Ianto on his-”

“Jack,” Gwen spoke over him and he sighed inwardly, unable to fall back on the old flirt-and-deflect tactic. “Did she do something? The alien?”

“No.” He stewed over the answer, and finally decided that he owed Gwen at least as much as he had told Ianto earlier. “I've met her before. Her name is Ro-” he stopped suddenly. “The Redjay. I didn't know what to expect,” he held up a hand to halt the stream of questions that he was certain Gwen was about to ask. “But she's scared, and that makes her dangerous, even unarmed. I couldn't risk one of you talking to her until I'd questioned her myself."

"Don't you think you should trust us, Jack?" Gwen's voice was strained as she gestured to her side. "If not the rest of us, Ianto at least."

"I..." Jack sighed. "It's complicated."

"So you keep telling us," snapped Gwen, talking over Ianto's half-raised hand, "but if you don't tell us anything how is it supposed to get any less complicated?"

She was right. Jack was so used to doing things on his own that he sometimes forgot her had a team to help him. That he had friends. Folding his hands in front of him he began to talk, telling Gwen everything that he had told Ianto ealier, and a little bit more.

“-and she's just regenerated.”

“Regenerated?”

“Time Lords change their appearance when they die. Not just their appearance,” he continued, noting Ianto and Gwen's confused looks, “but their whole personality. From what the – from what I know, they become a whole different person.”

“Then how can you hold the person in the cell accountable,” argued Ianto, reasonably, “for whatever you think she did in the past?”

Jack blinked. That was a stance he'd never thought of before. Where did you draw the moral line? Clearly Roda remembered everything that she'd done in the past. She obviously recognized him. He hadn't had a clue how to read the look on her face after he'd shown her the gaping hole in his mind where two years of memories had once been but she'd stopped shouting, then, and let him lock her in the cell once again without another word. What conclusions had she drawn about his past while he was busy judging her future?

“Well do they remember everything when they do?” asked Gwen, sinking into a chair opposite Jack with a confused expression on her face. Jack knew that look. It usually preceded what made her Gwen, rather than PC Cooper. “Does she remember...” she waved a hand, “dying?”

“Yes.” He met her eye, careful not to let Ianto see the look they shared. It was still his and Gwen's secret. “She does.”

“Then she needs a doctor,” Jack snorted as Ianto scowled, raising his voice, “not a jailer.” He shuffled his feet anxiously, and Jack wondered if he was accustomed to being a part of the team and not the man who brought the coffee. He'd brought himself into this mess, however he felt. “She's hurting,” Jack hummed. He certainly hadn't missed the faint orange glow about her. Was that something to do with her regeneration? The Doctor certainly hadn't glowed, anyway, “can't any of you see that?”

“She's angry, and confused,” argued Jack, though his heart was no longer in it. “If we send Owen in – another stranger – there's no telling how she'll lash out.”

“Then we sedate her,” suggested Gwen, “treat her wounds – does she have any wounds?” Jack shook his head. “Check her out at least, then. Get a meal in her. Calm her down. You too.” She side-eyed Jack, and sighed. “Ianto had the right idea...” Ianto gave Gwen a weak smile and this time, Jack breathed out. The kids were growing up. Making decisions without him. Sooner or later he'd be out of job! “Just cause you think you know her doesn't mean she doesn't deserve a chance to explain herself.”

They were right. He was on edge. All the talk of Daleks had had him expecting the worst and even knowing that he'd lashed out. The Time Lord was right, too. Jack glanced up at Ianto who was, even without looking at him closely, perfectly unharmed and for that matter, not someone who needed their hand to be held. He hadn't even thought to ask what they'd spoken about; he'd stormed in and broken up something far more peaceful than his own attempts to talk to the Redjay. He swore internally, and wished – not for the first time – that he could start this whole meeting over again from the beginning. It hadn't been the postulating or the threats that had gotten through to her. It had been Ianto's heart, and Jack opening up his mind to show her that he was telling the truth. Honesty and kindness. Ianto was right, she needed someone, just like he did. And he had been too blind to see it. Apparently he wasn't as good a man as he thought he was.

“Alright.” Gwen opened her mouth to argue again before realising that Jack was agreeing with her. She paused for a moment before grinning something between reassurance and victory. “Should I get Owen to...?”

Jack shook his head. “Something strong. Ketamin, maybe?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing with aspirin in it, anyway. We need enough to put her out before she knows what's happening,” jack had the faint suspicion that any chance he might have at earning her trust would dissolve away into nothing if she did, and that even then, this had bad idea written all over it, “so it might knock the weevils out too if we pump it through the system...” he chuckled, “Janet does need her beauty sleep.”

“I'll get right on it.”

Jack nodded politely as Gwen stood back up, casting a backwards glance over her shoulder at Jack before coming to some unspoken conclusion and disappearing off into another room. Ianto moved to follow her and Jack jumped to his feet, grabbing the man firmly, but gently, by the wrist.

“Ianto...”

“Sir?”

The word was tense, almost forced. Jack couldn't blame him. He traced circles into Ianto's wrist with his thumb, turning to face him and resisting the almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and cup his cheek in his hand. “I'm sorry.”

“Well,” Ianto drawled, but he didn't pull his hand away. He didn't meet Jack's eyes either, and the ex-Time Agent got the feeling that there was something he had very much missed down in the cells. “You are the boss.”

“That's not the...” Jack sighed, and he pulled Ianto closer, selfishly seeking physical comfort. “Whatever you said down there, it got through to her.”

“I didn't say anything.”

Jack felt Ianto relax in his arms and let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Ianto's voice was calm and quiet, but hurting. What had the two of them spoken about? Before he could ask for more Ianto pulled away, straightening his tie and clearing his throat as a faint blush spread across his face. Jack managed a weak smile, and Ianto returned it, though the sadness didn't leave his eyes.

“So what did you do?”

Ianto smiled again. “I listened.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I feel the need to endanger myself every so often.”  
>  **― Tim Daly**

 

For nine days, life continued almost as normal at Torchwood.

Jack found his tension slipping away, though the problems remained. There were still weevils to chase and blowfish gangs to corral but for the most part, the rift was quiet and in fact, Cardiff seemed to almost return to normal. He kept the failsafes in place just in case but by the end of the week, he was almost completely certain that no Daleks were forthcoming. Nothing was forthcoming. Had it not been for the aliens already in the city it felt as though they wouldn't have had anything to do at all. It was relaxing, though he would have been lying to say he wasn't suspicious. But when push came to shove, a peaceful week was a peaceful week, and Jack wasn't one to look that kind of gift in the mouth.

The Redjay was the most complicated part of the week and even that wasn't much to deal with. Owen examined her when she was unconscious and under Jack's instructions checked her heart rates; something that took some explaining. There were some scares - Jack knew a little about regeneration but having never seen it happen, the day when the flash of gold light set off the fire alarm was particularly memorable - but for the most part, the alien was recovering nicely as far as they could tell. The problem was that after the drama of her first day in Torchwood the woman had become practically silent. Jack went down every day and sat with her, waiting for her to say something, sometimes even talking about the day. If she was listening at all she gave him no indication, but then she wasn't lashing out either. Ianto went down as well and if she spoke to him, he didn't talk about their conversations and Jack didn't pry.

Jack sighed, helping himself to another slice of pepperoni. The problem with the Redjay that if she wouldn't talk to him, he couldn't figure out what to do with her. It was true that she didn't seem to be dangerous but she didn't seem like the woman he'd met before, either. What was missing from the equation? He scowled to himself as he picked absently at a wayward olive, running through his options for the hundredth time.

"What do you think, Jack?" He shook his head, startled, and stared at Owen for a second before the doctor repeated the question. "Reckon Gordon Brown'll be PM next?"

"Alien."

Gwen scoffed, hastily swallowing a slice of her half of the pizza. "Come off it Jack...!"

"I mean it."

Jack took another bite of his pizza, relishing in the change of subject. He enjoyed pretending not to know the answer to the sorts of questions that an ex-time traveller would. It was a good exercise in logic; what were the right words to say to sound informed without being too certain? Then again, sometimes just telling the truth and making it sound like an eccentric lie did the trick.

"Brancheerian. Shapeshifting species, relatively harmless."

"Fuck off..." muttered Owen, reaching for the neck of his bottle of beer. Jack rolled his eyes fondly.

"What happens if the PM's an alien?" mused Tosh, looking briefly up from the sonic device that she'ud been trying to decipher over the course of the meal. "Do we deal with it?"

"If they run the country alright I say let 'em be," announced Owen, "can't be any worse than ol' Big Ears, am I right?"

“It might add some perspective,” mused Tosh, nodding along to Owen's remark, “kind of like a foreign exchange?”

“Certainly adds something,” Owen smirked, making Gwen snort into the neck of her beer. Jack rolled his eyes fondly. Kids...

Ianto, on the other hand, groaned. “Not an image I needed in my head while I was eating.”

“Hasn't he got a wife?” Owen grinned er to ear, the drink putting him on a roll. “Think she knows her hubby's a martian?”

“Brancheerians are from Sirius V,” interjected Jack, half-heartedly, “not Mars.” His comment was, somewhat unsurprisingly he noted, drowned out by the more important discussion about Gordon Brown's personal life.

He left them to their gossip; goodness knew they needed a chance to behave like a normal team of colleagues every once in a while. In fact he didn't even have it in him to complain that they were drinking beer in the Hub. Owen had produced a six-pack from God only knew where and the city was quiet enough that he, Tosh and Gwen had decided it was safe to crack one open. Jack and Ianto had passed. The Captain leant back in his chair, half-following where the conversation was going s he drifted off again. His thoughts couldn't help but ramble, coming back again and again to the Redjay downstairs. All the talk of aliens with changing faces, he supposed, had done it. He glanced at the half-eaten pizza strewn across the table. Their guest hadn't eaten much ll week. Maybe she'd appreciate a slice? Or maybe he just fancied a change in conversation.

Jack sighed, pushing himself away from the table ad reaching for slice as he stood up. He had to do something about her soon. Maybe what he needed to do was extend an olive branch.

“I'll be right back.” Ianto gave him a curious look, the unspoken question obvious, and he shook his head imperceptibly. He followed it up with a trademark wink. “Don't wait up for me.”

“Hmm...”

He couldn't sworn that Ianto went pink around the ears as he turned away and couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Tearing the lid off a discarded empty box he rolled up his sleeves and went downstairs, pausing only to rap his knuckles on the glass door of the Redjay's cell. He typed in the lock combination as she glanced up at him and side-stepped through the door, but before he could offer her the pizza or attempt to strike up a conversation the women broke her nine day silence herself.

“You ordered pizza to an underground base?”

Jack blinked, off-guard. “How'd you know it was underground?”

“Acoustics,” she answered, her stark casualness at odds with her earlier hostility. The Redjay stood up, cracked her neck and stretched her back, barely sparing Jack a second glance. Another change. “That, and the damp.” She paused, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “You mentioned a river.”

“Not above us,” he clarified, not quite sure how to take the sudden change in tone or the unexpected topic.

“No,” she nodded thoughtfully, adjusting her shirt. Over the days she'd stripped the armour down to its bare bones, presumably to cool down. “The damp tastes salty.”

“Good guess.”

He raised an eyebrow, but felt himself relax despite himself. This he could deal with; stabs in the dark about her location, casual discussion about the taste of the air. It was a lot easier to deal with than accusations about his missing years and somewhat cryptic grudges that he tried not to dwell on. They didn't seem to be an issue in their supposed future. All the same, he held up the cardbord plate of pizza with a smirk, changing the subject just in case she was familiar enough with the geography of Cardiff – though, it hadn't seemed to ring a bell earlier – that she would be able to pinpoint where the Hub was. That wasn't a detail he was willing to give up easily.

“I brought you a slice.”

“Is it poisoned?” Jack opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by sudden almost pleasant laughter. “That was a joke. Is there any pineapple?”

“Uh...” he looked down absently at the pizza, blinking again, “no. It's pepperoni.”

“I couldn't stand them in my last body,” the Redjay explained, by way of explanation. She stretched once more before holding her hand out to take the proffered food. “But go on, then. Can't be worse than rations or what you'd been feeding me all week.” Her nose wrinkled up. It was, Jack noticed with some surprise, a familiarly adorable gesture that he recognized from their last meeting. “I mean, is that stuff even ft for the wee-”

“Jack!”

The two near-immortals turned in unison as Gwen jogged down the stairs, taking the concrete steps two at a time. Jack stepped away from the Redjay almost guiltily, not realising until then that just like their last talk he had gravitated closer to her as the conversation went on. Gwen, however, seemed too preoccupied to notice anything and it began to be clear that her interruption was more than just indignation that he'd been gone too long or abandoned them for the Redjay.

“What is it, what's wrong?”

“It's Rhys,” she explained, catching her breath and leaning against the wall with one hand. “He sent me some silly text about a flash mob outside Debenhams. Mannequins climbing out the window display, or something.” She snorted. “Thought it sounded a bit naff actually but Owen googled it, and then I got a page from Andy and apparently,” she looked at Jack, her eyes narrowed in bewilderment, “they've got guns coming out of their hands.”

Jack frowned as well, dropping the pizza down to the bench and searching his memories for why that sounded familiar. Was it something he'd come across in his Time Agency days? No... Rose had mentioned them. Something about killer mannequins. Hadn't they been how she'd met the Doctor? That had seemed more important to him at the time (and, of course, resuming the flirting that he'd begun in the Blitz). To his frustration, he couldn't remember anything useful about them. Grumbling quietly he reached for the holster on his hip, checking that his gun had bullets in it before running his hand over the cuff of his wrist-strap. But as he made to join Gwen he suddenly stopped, and swore.

“You've all been drinking.”

Gwen pulled a weary face. “It's fine, I can still drive-”

“No way.” Jack shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair. “Tell Ianto it's just me and him,” he began to coordinate, the Redjay forgotten and Gwen's protests pointedly ignored. “Get Tosh to hack the traffic advisory and set up a road block or a redirect. Keep traffic off the highstreet, get the pubs cleared, whatever you can. You,” he pointed at Gwen, in Captain mode, “check the records for anything like this, in case Torchwood's seen these before. Ianto and I need to know everything we can about-”

“I can help.” The Redjay grabbed Jack's arm, her naturally tanned skin turning unnaturally pale. Her mouth was an angry line but her eyes were deadly serious and her grip was made of iron. She looked from Jack, to Gwen, and back to Jack, staring at him imploringly. The psychic nudge was subtle, but he could feel that, too, a sort of private 'trust me' that had begun a week ago. “I know what they are, we fought them in the War.”

“War?” Gwen made a surprised noise. “This isn't a War this is Cardiff. Jack isn't going to let you out just because you think you can-”

“He is,” snapped the Redjay, “if you don't want any more people to die.” Jack could hear the pain in her voice, in the casing of her thoughts. “Twenty first century technology is nothing against the nestene.”

“Nestene?” Jack and Gwen asked, in near-unison.

The Redjay's voice was strained, impatient, her grip on Jack's arm just as much so. “They're a hive mind, they possess plastic, plant sleeper agents on suitable planets while they plan an invasion.”

“Shit,” muttered Gwen.

“I can help,” repeated the Redjay, raising her voice. “I just need my equipment.”

“Jack,” murmured Gwen, too low for the Redjay to hear – so Jack assumed – the obvious warning. He nodded once but there wasn't any time to think.

“Trust me... Jack.”

Deep down, Jack knew that he already did. He had for nine days, now. He couldn't help but trust the Redjay and since he'd opened up his mind to her he felt, instinctively, that there was a spark of trust for him there, too. It was there in the companionable silence, the understanding glances, even when 'fighting'. And right now it wasn't as though he had that many options. He couldn't risk Gwen or Owen in the field drunk, even if he was the one driving the SUV. Ianto, while sober, was far from a crack shot and had less field experience than Jack would have liked and Tosh was of better use in the Hub, doing what she did best. No matter what Gwen might think – and he couldn't blame her for being suspicious – he was confident he could handle the Redjay if it turned out to be a trick, but it didn't feel like one. He hoped he could trust his gut.

Jack gently eased the Redjay's hand from his arm, shot Gwen a look that quietly asked her to trust him, and slipped his gun back into his holster. He tapped his earpiece with the tip of his index finger, reassuring Gwen that he was only a call away if anything went wrong. It did a little to reassure her, but not much. She pursed her lips but did as Jack had asked and hurried back up the stairs as quickly as she'd descended. A second later, the bluetooth headset fizzed and hissed.

“I hope you know what you're doing, Jack.”

Careful to keep his face neutral Jack nodded once and jerked his head towards the stairwell.

“Can you drive an SUV?”

The Redjay laughed. “Captain, I can drive anything.”


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Every lover is a soldier.”   
> **― Ovid, Amores**

“I thought you said you could drive anything!?”

“I didn't say I could drive it well!”

Roda had to admit there was a smug sort of satisfaction that came from the way that the Time Agent was clinging to his arm-rest as she turned corners down the winding streets of Cardiff, his eyes widened in disbelief. She was honestly amazed that he'd let her drive; trusting her behind the wheel of a car – and more importantly, trusting her not to steal it – was a big change from not even trusting her outside of her prison cell for a shower and a change of clothes. She was certain she needed both, but if the Captain had noticed he was either too busy or too polite to say anything. It was his fault, anyway, but hardly a priority at the moment. Perhaps if she helped deal with the nestene she would get some time off her sentence for good behaviour.

She wasn't sure what this was, precisely. Was Torchwood really so small a group that a handful of them getting drunk could put half of the team on the sidelines when the going got tough? Perhaps they really were their own people, and not a branch of the Time Agency after all. It made sense, but not in a way that she wanted to admit. Kept away from the Time War, seperated from Wick, locked underground for more than a week... she desperately wanted to continue casting herself as the victim of a merciless xenophobic organization so that she could stay angry. But when the Captain had trusted her to look into his mind, even guided where he wanted her to be, she'd realised something that could not be ignored. He'd been telling the truth when he told her he had no memory of the last time she'd met him. And it stood to reason that it wasn't the only thing he was telling the truth about.

Her nose wrinkled both in frustration and concentration. There was a time and a place to figure out what the fuck was going on between them. Why he seemed to be taking so much of an interest in her and not just processing her like it seemed they did any other alien 'threat' in their city. If the woman who had come downstairs had the right idea then there was something far more important at stake than her history with one Time Agent.

All of the nestene consciousness' protein planets had been destroyed by the War. Some in the line of fire – one of many losses that she had grown to if not live with, do her best not to think about – while others had been targetted by both sides of combat. She had been there at the destruction of their homeworld. Polymos was seared into her memories almost as deeply as the brand had been. The loss of the nestene planet had not, at the time, hit her particularly hard but the wave of destruction that had recoiled on their squad had been one of the biggest losses they'd experienced so far in the war. She could still hear the TARDISes screaming... Roda forced herself not to close her eyes against the memories, reminding herself that she was behind the wheel of a car. All she had to do was convince this Torchwood that she wasn't a threat and she'd be able to return to the War. The sooner it was over, the better.

“Next time, I'm driving!”

She could feel the Time Agent watching her, wary even despite his attempts at humour. He barked out directions and orders in a way that told her that the Captain's stripes were more than just decoration, and the two steadily fell into a comfortable enough partnership as he communicated with his team back at the base and Roda focused on remembering which pedal did what. Driving across the city seemed to take forever – it had been a very long time since she had had to consider what streets to take without just dematerializing in one spot and appearing in another – but it was a welcome reprieve from staring at the same slightly damp wall for most of the day. And she had to admit, she was almost enjoying herself.

“So there's a next time, is there?”

The Time Agent opened his mouth as if to say something and then paused, his expression midway between a smirk and surprise. For a moment, Roda regretted saying anything herself but before she could take it back he simply half-shrugged and changed the subject.

“There,” he reached across Roda to point down a side street that it barely seemed as though the SUV would fit down, “down there.”

Roda felt her back straighten, her smile fading and her brow knitting into a frown. “What's the plan?”

“I thought you said you knew how to kill it?”

The Time Lady's eyes narrowed. “I said I fought them before.”

“In your War?”

If Roda swerved a little too hard and scratched one of the wing mirrors against the side of the alleyway, or slammed on the breaks a little too suddenly, then she struggled to care. The SUV swerved to a stop in front of a row of orange cones and slanted police cars. Roda's teeth clenched she ripped off her seatbelt, rolling up the sleeves of her now too-large uniform without giving the Time Agent an answer. If it bothered him, he had the good sense not to say anything. Roda patted the sonic disrupter tucked into her belt and wished, not for the first time, that she could have taken her bow with her, or even her blaster. At least she had a knife. She would have argued the point again – surely the nestene would be easier to fight if she was armed? - but the sounds of gunfire and screaming, reaching them from the other end of the street, finally caught her attention.

She turned her head but the Time Agent had already power-walked away, ducking through the roadblock of police with only a cursory nod in their direction. Roda raised an eyebrow and jogged to catch up with him, murmuring 'excuse me' under her breath and trying to not make eye contact. Law enforcement had always rubbed her the wrong way but as she fell into stride with the taller man it was obvious that he barely gave them a second thought. She couldn't help but mutter under her breath.

“Time Agent...”

“I told you,” he hissed, a hint of irritation breaking into his voice, “not anymore.”

“Well once a Time Agent,” she snapped back half under her breath, eyeing his pistol jealously, “always a-”

“Look out!”

They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, and not in the pleasant way. Roda fancied she smelled someone's hair sizzling as they collided with the pavement, the Time Agent tackling her around the middle with one shoulder and arm just in time to pull her out of the way of an opening attack. She widened her eyes in shock, pinned to the ground by his body weight as he curled half-protectively around her in a way that told her a lot more about his character than anything else he had tried to convince her of in the past week or so. Both their hearts raced as they lay there for a second or two and for a moment, Roda could have stayed there for longer. How long had it been since she'd been this close to another person...?

“How many?”

They stayed completely still as Roda strained to listen to the sounds of gunshot. No more came their way; either they hadn't been specifically targeted, or the nestene thought they'd been hit. She could count at least four different guns, mixed in with the sounds of bodies hitting the ground. Screaming. Feet stampeding past them and through the police, almost trampling them. It had taken them less than half an hour to reach the scene of the invasion and people had still died. She couldn't hear any return fire, or the sounds of people approaching; did that mean they were on the own, too? Pushing down all too fresh memories Roda lowered her voice, whispering so quietly in the Time Agent's ear that under different circumstances, it would have been seductive.

“Five or six of them.”

“You said they're a hive mind?”

“Yes,” she hissed, straining to try and look over his shoulder.

At the very least, there didn't seem to be any more civilians between them and the nestene. Her view of them down the long high street was unimpeded. Gwen, as the Time Agent had called her, had been right. The nestene really did look like shop mannequins. Her taly was right; squinting over the man's shoulder Roda could count six of them, skin – if it could be called that – white and featureless. They had no eyes to show where they were going or where they were shooting, and they were dressed not in armour but in fashionable clothing. Tight, skinny jeans and patterned shits, and long flapping coats that Roda would have coveted under better circumstances. She'd heard about how the consciousness could possess plastics, and that they often took humanoid forms, but it was a far cry from the cephalopod form that she'd grown to recognize.

The invading army advanced on the street ready to kill. One stump of each of their wrists was held out like a marksman ready to fire. There was no at ease, no weapons held pointing down at their sides. They might not have thought that they had any remaining enemies to target but they clearly had no intention to back down. Where were they going? What had woken them? Were there more, or was this just a recon force before the main event? Without running scans that she couldn't do without her TARDIS it was impossible to tell. Roda quietly relayed what she could see to the Time Agent, all the while trying to carefully wriggle until she could reach her sonic, trapped underneath one of her legs. If she could wriggle it loose, just fire off one shot... sonic had worked against them before... bullets, not so much.

Another shot fired into the ground beside them and they both swore, rolling apart and to their feet on opposite sides of the blast mark. That the shot had missed them was sheer dumb luck. The man grimaced, bracing the butt of his gun against his other hand as he targeted the closest of the nestene. Roda opened her mouth – ready to tell him that with an anachronistic Sol-3 weapon like that, there was no chance in Skaro that his bullets would make any impact on the nestene at all – when he interrupted her.

“What,” he glanced over his shoulder once, his eyes bright, and honest, but focused into near coldness, “is the plan?”

“Wick...”

The eyes that looked at her – no, into her – weren't the Time Agents. Roda could forget the nestene for a second, forget that they were in danger, forget that she was standing so close to a man who had killed her in the past and given the chance, might do so again... but she couldn't forget that look. It wasn't even his; how dare he wear it? He had the look of a Commander – the Commander – and perhaps he didn't just wear those stripes for decoration. It was the same way that Wick looked at her soldiers in the heat of a fight. Trust, command, expectation. Even if he was her enemy – and deep down, Roda was beginning to doubt that – could she really let him down knowing that somewhere in him there was something of Wick?

She shook her head and held out her modified sonic, targetting the nearest nestene with an explorative blast. (The – dubiously legal - modifications had been a headache to explain. Wick had only turned a blind eye because they had proved conveniently good at blowing the eyes off of unsuspecting tin cans at the stalk.) It jerked, twisting and twitching from the loss of its prosthetic arm, but continued to advance.

Damn it. What was the plan? There had to be a powerhouse somewhere, something that was controlling them. If there was then it was just a matter of destroying it, or even just disabling that, and these six – and any more in the city – would fall. In a best case scenario, that was; if this was more than just a recon force, then their strategy had to be different. There were weapons back in her TARDIS, something that could target the nestene on a planetary scale, but did they really need to go that far? She hoped – prayed – not. It wasn't a weapon she would survive using; she would save it for the bastards who took Wick.

But that wasn't the issue here. The problem that complicated all of her expectations. She felt her chest tighten and it seemed as though her hearts had stopped. The Time Agent trusted her. That, if little else, was clear. The revelation was more of a shock than the nestene. And if she didn't trust him, people were going to die, and she would never get revenge.

“Roda?” His voice was sharp, authoritative. Honest. Roda felt herself slipping back into a familiar routine that was almost warm and comforting, had the memories of war and the instincts they dredged up not been so brutal. This she could handle. Fighting was almost all this regeneration knew. She would take this newest war one fight at a time, and perhaps at the end, they could find a truce.

Not taking her eyes off the enemy in front of them she stepped forward to stand side by side with Jack.

“Here's what we have to do...”


End file.
